A Highlander In Smallville
by Dannyblue
Summary: A SmallvilleHighlander crossover. Sequal to "Things Change". Chloe's life gets even more interesting.
1. Default Chapter

**Title:** A Highlander In Smallville (formerly "Power Lost, Power Found")  
**Author:** Dannyblue   
**Email:** dannyblue2@yahoo.com   
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Category:** Action  
**Summary:** Sequel to "Things Change". An actual crossover with THE HIGHLANDER.  
**Spoilers:** This is set some time is season 2 of SMALLVILLE. General spoilers for THE HIGHLANDER.  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own SMALLVILLE, or THE HIGHLANDER. No profit is made, no infringement intended.   
**Distribution:** Just ask.  
**Feedback:** Please and thank you.  
**Author's Note:** This is a pretty major rewrite of "Power Lost". After being put on hold by a massive case of writer's block, the story continues…but with some changes. For example, while this chapter might seem similar to the original, you'll start to notice drastic changes in part two. Anyway, I hope you like this new version. 

For those who'd like to read "Things Change" first, just click on my name at the top of the page to go to my personal profile. "Things Change" is story number 9.    
  
  
   
  
**PART ONE**  
  
  
Chloe ducked to avoid a hit to the shoulder. As the first object passed by on her left, another came from her right, a blur in the dimly illuminated barn. She took a quick step to the left, and threw her right arm out to the side. Her forearm hit the bag with a thwack, and it veered back and away.  
  
Chloe was quick to reset herself. Body turned to the side, feet in a T formation for balance, arms raised in a defensive position.  
  
The next blow caught her from behind, square in the back. She let out a startled yelp as the impact knocked her forward, stole the air from her lungs. There was nothing she could do to stop her fall, so she went with it, letting momentum take over. She tucked her chin in, elbows bent, palms flat. When she hit the floor, she rolled. Her body flowed over and up as graceful as silk. In an instant, she was back on her feet.   
  
Chloe spun around in time to see the sandbag glide towards her. Her fist hit the canvas with a solid _thunk_, and drove the bag back. The runners the bag hung from squeaked in protest.  
  
Her harsh, labored breaths almost drowned out the sound of the next attack. It was faint, soft as a whisper. Low and close to the ground.  
  
Chloe jumped, pulling her knees to almost chest level. And just in time, too. The barrel passed beneath her feet, rolling under and away with incredible speed.  
  
Tired and off balance, Chloe landed hard...and wrong. When her ankle twisted beneath her, she let out a gasp of startled pain. As she staggered, most of her attention focused on staying on her feet.  
  
And that's when a sandbag slammed into her left side.   
  
The force of the hit, much harder than the last one, lifted Chloe off her feet. Time stood still as she flew threw the air. The sensation was almost peaceful. She felt light, weightless. The only sound was the air whispering past her head. The world, dim and shadowy, passed by in a blur. It seemed like it could go on forever...  
  
Until she crashed into the wall.  
  
She'd had the wind knocked out of her before, but never like this. It was like someone used a vacuum to suck her lungs dry. Then gravity reached up and dragged her down way too fast. She landed, with a grunt, on some well-placed bales of hay, which was good. But hay? Not as soft as people thought.  
  
"Chloe!" a panicky voice exclaimed. "Oh, my God!"  
  
As she started to tumble off the bale of hay, she was caught by a pair of strong hands.   
  
"Chloe! Are you okay?" The voice was frantic now. "Are you alright?"  
  
Hands as frantic as the voice tried to...do something. Sit her up, or lay her down, or check her out. It was a little disconcerting. Especially since, in all the confusion, she wasn't all that sure where her arms and legs were.   
  
"God, I'm so sorry!" the voice continued. He sounded so upset, she almost felt bad for him. Even though his 'helping hands' were making her seasick.   
  
Then, a miracle happened. A single, shallow breath squeaked its way into her lungs. It was followed by another, then another, until...  
  
"Clark," Chloe wheezed. She tried to shrug his hands away. "Clark." _Wheeze._ "Sto-stop. Stop!"  
  
Clark froze. His hands stilled. And Chloe used one precious breath to sigh in relief.  
  
"Chloe, are you okay?" Clark asked.   
  
Chloe studied her best friend's concerned face. He was kneeling in front of her, his hands wrapped around her forearms. And she could see the first sparks of guilt shining in his eyes.  
  
"I'm so sorry," he continued. "I didn't mean to push that last sandbag so hard. I really didn't!"  
  
Still too winded to want to speak, Chloe nodded, and hoped he'd interpret the gesture as, _It's__ alright. I understand. It wasn't your fault._  
  
But this was Clark Kent, who wasn't good at reading subtle signals like body language, and facial expressions, and junk like that. So, she forced her labored lungs to produce sound.   
  
"I'm...okay," she panted. "Just...need a minute."  
  
But, when Clark started packing for a guilt trip, a minute was a lot to ask of him.  
  
"How do you feel?" he demanded. "Is anything"--he gulped--"broken?"  
  
Chloe rolled her eyes. During their first training session, she fell. There was no tucking and rolling that time. Nope, she crashed to the ground, landed in a graceless, painful heap right at Clark's feet. She also managed to break her pinkie in the process.   
  
After a month of training with...After the training she'd already gone through, Chloe was used to getting hurt. It was part of the Immortal package. But Clark, who wasn't even really at fault, acted like he'd committed a capital offense. For a solid week, even after her pinkie healed, he couldn't go ten minutes without saying, 'I'm sorry, Chloe.' At first, it was kind of cute. Then, it started to get on her nerves. She'd decided to never again tell him if she broke anything while they were training. Then, she found out about one of his other...talents.  
  
"I twisted my ankle," Chloe said now. She rotated her foot, and winced when she felt a twinge. "But that was before the bag hit me. Other than that, I think I'm all in one piece."  
  
Clark frowned, obviously not satisfied with her self-diagnosis. Eyes narrowed, gaze suddenly intense, he looked her over. Starting at the top of her head, he slowly worked his way down.  
  
Chloe tried not to squirm in discomfort. Added to all of the other weirdness in her life was the fact that her best friend was a human...well, _alien_ x-ray machine. Knowing he could look through her clothes pretty much whenever was bad enough. But he could look _inside_ her, could see her bones, and muscle tissue, and internal organs...  
  
"You're shivering!" Clark exclaimed, alarmed. "Why are you shivering? Are you going into shock?"  
  
"No. Just thinking thoughts it's way better not to think."  
  
Clark gave her a confused frown, then went back to his examination. "I don't think anything's broken."  
  
"And, even if it was, it wouldn't be for long," Chloe reminded him. That was the part he always seemed to forget. "I wouldn't mind lying down though."  
  
"Oh. Okay. Sure!" Eager, as always, to be helpful, Clark jumped to his feet. He started to bend toward her. "I..."  
  
"...will _not_ carry me. I can make it on my own steam."  
  
"Oh, r-right," Clark said with chagrin. "Sorry."  
  
But Chloe's claim that she could make it on her own steam was a bit of an exaggeration. Thanks to her twisted ankle, Chloe had to lean on Clark to keep from falling down.   
  
As they made their way across the barn, they had to walk around the three sandbags that hung from the ceiling. Clark and Mr. Kent had rigged up this pretty cool system. They'd explained it to her, but she'd been too busy punching a bag to pay attention. Basically, the bags were attached to these roller thingies, like the kind on sliding closet doors. The rollers were placed in channels that allowed the bags to slide wherever you pushed them. And, when the training sessions were over, the bags could be taken down and stashed in a corner somewhere.  
  
It the best alternative any of them could think of. She couldn't really spar with Clark. The first time she hit him, she'd break her hand and send him on another major guilt trip. But she had to keep her limited fighting skills sharp. The bags were good for punching, kicking, ducking and dodging. They worked like a charm. Well, as long as the guy swinging them, who was super strong, didn't accidentally push one too hard and send her flying across the barn.   
  
Finally, they made up the stairs to Clark's loft. With a grateful groan, Chloe sat down on the sofa.   
  
"Do you want anything?" Clark asked, hovering over her like a worried mother hen. "Something to drink? Ice for your ankle?"  
  
"Nope. This is good for now. Ask me again in a minute, 'kay?" With a deep sigh, Chloe rested her head against the sofa back, closed her eyes, and tried to forget the aches and pains. "At least there's no blood this time."  
  
  


(TO BE CONTINUED)


	2. Chapter Two

**Author's Note: **Chloe became an Immortal in the story that came before this one, called "Things Change". If you'd like to read it before going on with this one, just click on my name at the top of the page to go to my personal profile. "Things Change" is story number 9. 

Thanks for reading. Now, on with the story!

**PART TWO**  
  
  
Clark hurried back into the barn, an ice pack in one hand, a bottle of water in the other. He tried not to make much noise when he, climbed the stairs, just in case Chloe had fallen asleep. Instead, he found her still sitting up, her right foot on the coffee table.  
  
"You know what would be really nice?" she said. "If the Immortal healing thing kicked in before all the pain and unsightly swelling."  
  
As Clark handed her the water bottle, he winced in sympathy. Her ankle was almost twice its normal size. "That looks pretty bad."  
  
"Bad, but not broken," Chloe assured him. A good-natured grin lit her face. "So you don't have to buy me a fruit basket, or promise me your first born child. Although, that box of candy you sent me last time was nice. I always like apologies when they come with chocolate."   
  
Blushing a little in embarrassment, Clark ducked his head. Okay, he overreacted when she broke her pinkie. But he'd felt so bad. Kind of like he felt now, after knocking her into a wall.  
  
Biting his lip to keep from apologizing again, he sat on the coffee table next to her foot. Gently, he eased the ice pack onto her ankle. "This should help take the swelling down."  
  
"Thanks."  
  
They both stared at her ankle, as if they expected it to miraculously shrink from the cold. When that didn't happen, neither could contain a sigh.  
  
"Oh, well." Chloe shrugged. "I guess training's over for today."  
  
Clark sighed again, this time in relief. Not that he didn't want to help Chloe. He understood that she needed to train, even if he didn't like to think about what she needed to train _for_. But he always worried that he'd hurt her somehow, pretty much like he had today. Only next time it would be more serious than a broken pinkie or sprained ankle. And it didn't matter that she healed so fast. Clark didn't like being the reason she was in pain, however long it lasted.  
  
"About your training," Clark began. Nervously, he cleared his throat. "I've been thinking."  
  
"Uh oh."  
  
Clark gave her a baleful glare before he continued. "I've been thinking it's time we found you a real trainer. Someone who knows what they're doing, unlike either one of us. I mean, we're pretty much stumbling around in the dark here."  
  
"We've already talked about this, Clark." Chloe said. "It's not like there are Immortal teachers growing on trees. Not around here, anyway." She shifted in her seat, and winced when the movement jostled her swollen ankle. "Besides, I'm still not too eager to meet another Immortal. Yeah, they might be one of the good guys, a gentle soul who, out of the kindness of their heart, is willing to mentor a fledgling like me. They also might be a headhunter who'll have their sword drawn and at my throat before I could say 'howdy'."   
  
Despite her light tone, Clark saw the pain in her eyes. Pain, grief, guilt, fear, sorrow, and a lot of other things. When she got that look, it wasn't hard to guess who she was thinking about.  
  
Merrick.  
  
Clark clenched his teeth, his hands balled into fists. When it came to the dead Immortal, Clark's feelings weren't nearly as conflicted as Chloe's. He felt anger, pure and simple. The man had tried to kill one of his best friends. If he were still alive, Clark wasn't really sure what he would do.  
  
And, okay, maybe there was some guilt mixed in with the anger. As illogical as it seemed, Clark felt like he should've been able to protect Chloe. To sense what Merrick really was. To stop him before Chloe had to do what she did to protect herself.  
  
"They're still looking for the Twilight Stranger, you know," Chloe said, her voice barely above a whisper.   
  
"I know." Clark saw a big story about the serial killer on the news just last night. Since some time had passed since the last murder, the panic had faded a little, but it was still there. Everyone was certain he would strike again, and soon.  
  
"It seems wrong that we can't tell anybody," Chloe continued. "I mean, every blond woman in Metropolis must be terrified, wondering if she'll be the next. The families of the victims think their daughters' killer is still on the loose. The police are questioning suspects we both know are innocent because the real Twilight Strangler is already dead." She folded her arms, took a deep breath. "I just wish we could tell everyone it's over."  
  
Clark stared down at the floor. This wasn't the first time they'd talked about this. They'd even considered making an anonymous tip to the police. Maybe Merrick's name would be enough for the police to connect the dots and realize the killer they were looking for wasn't a threat anymore.   
  
In the end, it was Clark who decided against it making that call. The interest in Merrick's strange death was just starting to die down, and they'd managed to keep Chloe out of it altogether. If they did anything to stir things up now, it might lead right back to her.   
  
It was frustrating for both of them. Because this wasn't a meteor mutant Clark could fight, or an article Chloe could write to expose some danger to the community. Basically, all they could do was…nothing.  
  
"The teacher doesn't have to be an Immortal," Clark said, both to break the heavy silence and to change the subject.  
  
Chloe stared at him for one long, silent moment. Then she shook her head. "I can't go to a mortal teacher. I think they'd notice if I got hurt but was fine and dandy an hour or so later."  
  
"The chances of you getting hurt in a martial arts class are pretty slim. And at least you'd be learning the basics from someone who, unlike me, knows what they're doing."  
  
As she reached down to massage her shin, Chloe frowned. "What's the matter, Clark? Are you tired of helping me?"  
  
"No!" he sincerely denied. "It's just…I don't want you to get hurt anymore because of me. And I want you to really be prepared in case you run into another Immortal and I'm not around to…"  
  
"Save me," Chloe asked, a soft smile curling her lips.   
  
"Yeah." Clark shrugged. He knew there was a 'no interference from outsiders' rule. But if someone came to Smallville and started swinging a sword anywhere near Chloe's neck, he was pretty sure he was going to step in. If he was there.  
  
"I know I need a teacher, Clark," the Immortal in question said. "But it has to be an Immortal. And, aside from putting an ad in the classifieds that says, 'Fledgling Immortal searching for non-headhunting Immortal mentor with extensive knowledge of martial arts and sword fighting,' I don't know how I'm going to find one."  
  
  
(TO BE CONTINUED)


	3. Chapter Three

**AN: **Those who read earlier versions of this story may notice some drastic changes to the storyline but, please, hang with me. It works better this way, honest! And I think you'll like where the story goes from here.

**PART THREE**  
  
_The__ next day._  
  
The Talon was packed with customers, most of them students from Smallville High. But Lex Luthor was barely aware of the activity around him. He sat at one of the coffee house's most secluded tables, both his cup of coffee and his copy of the _Smallville Ledger_ untouched. At the moment, the screen of his laptop had his full attention  
  
The Fact Seekers site was run by conspiracy theorists. While they had some…creative ideas about what really happened to Elvis, Lex was interested in one of their other projects. It seemed the Seekers had documented proof, going back decades, of headless corpses being found all over the world. In each case, the wound was cauterized, so there was little blood at the kill site. There were also reports of broken windows and strange electrical displays near the scenes of the crimes.  
  
This last fact made Lex's heart leap in his chest. He remembered, in vivid detail, the windows of Smallville High exploding. Lightening pouring out of the building, and stabbing at the sky.   
  
The Seekers had several theories about these killings. They were part of a government conspiracy. Or proof of alien activity on Earth. Or the work of a centuries old cult, whose members possessed mystical powers. But, while Lex thought the theories were pure fiction, the sheer number of decapitation killings, the similarities between each one, couldn't be written off as coincidence. Nor could the swords found near so many of the bodies.   
  
The information Lex bought from a Smallville PD employee didn't mention a sword being found near Merrick's corpse. Still, all the rest…  
  
"Hi, Lex."  
  
Startled, the young millionaire looked up to find Clark Kent standing in front of him. And standing next to him, looking more than a little uneasy, was Chloe Sullivan.  
  
Lex smiled. "Hello, Clark," Lex smiled. "I was beginning to think you weren't going to show today." He nodded towards the young reporter. "Miss Sullivan."  
  
"Mr. Luthor." Chloe's smile was friendly but reserved.   
  
Clark glanced at the computer. "We aren't bothering you, are we? It looks like you're working."  
  
"I was, but I could use a break." Smoothly, he folded down the screen of his laptop. "I've just about had my fill of expense reports."  
  
"Hmmm," Chloe murmured as she and Clark sat down. "Kind of a weird place to work, isn't it? I wouldn't think you could concentrate with all of this noise."   
  
"Well, I needed a break from the quiet of my office." He looked around the busy room. "And being surrounded by activity actually helps me focus on what I'm doing."   
  
"Expense reports?" she said, with just a hint of skepticism. She glanced at the closed laptop with open curiosity. "Uh huh."  
  
"So, Lex," Clark broke in, casting a warning glance in Chloe's direction. "I heard you were playing in some kind of charity softball game next weekend."  
  
"Yes, I am," Lex admitted with little enthusiasm. "The organizer caught me in a weak moment."  
  
Chloe grinned. "I bet a lot of people are paying good money to see that. Lex Luthor in sweats and a baseball cap."  
  
"We're wearing uniforms, actually. As for the baseball cap, I've been told they look very good on me."  
  
The two teens were still laughing when the waitress arrived at their table. As they gave their orders, Lex's thoughts returned to William Merrick. He was convinced Clark and Chloe knew more about his death than they'd told the police.  
  
Lex had observed them carefully since the murder. The change was subtle, but the two seemed much closer than they'd been before. That tended to happen when two people shared a secret.  
  
It was a secret Lex also shared. At least, in part.  
  
_________________________  
  
_When__Clark__ made a delivery to the mansion, it wasn't unusual for him to hang around for a bit to chat. But, this time, Lex sense the younger man was on a mission.  
  
"So," __Clark__ began as he shifted nervously from one foot to the other. "I guess you're wondering why Chloe didn't tell the police she knew __Merrick__."  
  
"The thought had crossed my mind," Lex admitted as he softly closed the door of his study. __Clark__ looked edgy enough to jump out of his skin at the first loud noise. "And, I must say, I'm surprised. As a reporter, I'm sure Miss Sullivan knows that, in a murder case, the police are always eager to talk to anyone who knew the victim."  
  
"But she didn't know him all that well," __Clark__ insisted. "Chloe met __Merrick__ right after he got to Smallville. He overheard her talking about the Wall of Weird, and I guess he was really interested. In fact, Chloe said he'd had some unusual experiences himself. So, every once in a while, they'd meet to talk about one of Chloe's investigations or something. And that was pretty much it." __Clark__ shrugged. "Chloe thought about telling the police. But she was afraid her dad would freak if he knew she'd spent so much time alone with an older guy he didn't know. Besides, it wasn't like she knew anything that could help find the killer."  
  
Lex was impressed. It was a plausible explanation. Although it did sound a bit rehearsed. Like something two nervous teens made up and went over several times.   
  
Lex donned a thoughtful frown. "You're probably right. Just because she talked to him a few times doesn't mean she knows anything that could help the investigation. After all, you can talk to someone every day and never really know them."  
  
"Exactly," __Clark__ agreed. If he detected any hidden meaning behind Lex's words, he didn't show it. "So, uh, if you wouldn't mind, we'd, uh…" Stuttering to a halt, he ducked his head. "Well, Chloe and I, we really don't want…"  
  
"Don't worry about it, __Clark__," Lex interrupted. He placed a reassuring hand on the teen's shoulder. "If the police find out Chloe knew __Merrick__, it won't be because of me."  
  
__Clark__ sighed, his relief palpable. "Thanks, Lex."_  
  
_________________________  
  
  
"So, Lex," Chloe said once the waitress had left. "Do you think you can get us some tickets to the game?"  
  
"You don't like softball, Chloe," Clark said.  
  
"But this is a _celebrity_ softball game. It would make a great story for _The Torch_. And since I know one of the players personally"—she gave Lex an ingratiating smile—"maybe I'll have access to some of his famous team mates?"  
  
"I'll see what I can do," Lex promised. "About the tickets."  
  
The young reporter's smile turned into a grimace. "Thanks. I guess."  
  
As the conversation wandered off in other directions, Lex again considered coming right out and asking what was going on. He could explain that, whatever the truth was, he didn't want to use it to hurt them in any way. He just needed to satisfy his own curiosity. To understand what he'd seen that night.  
  
But he knew Clark. Young Mr. Kent might not be the best liar in the world, but he was an expert at keeping secrets. If there was something he didn't want to reveal, he wouldn't. And, while Lex didn't know Chloe as well, he imagined she'd shut down if he confronted her directly.  
  
No, it was better if Lex pretended not to be the least bit interested in William Merrick. Then perhaps Clark or Chloe would let down their guards enough around him to let something slip.  
  
Suddenly, a loud gasp came from Chloe's side of the table. She was staring down at his copy of the _Ledger_. Her were wide, and the color had drained from her face.  
  
"Miss Sullivan," Lex said, his voice both curious and concerned. "Are you alright?"  
  
But she didn't answer. Just kept staring down at the paper.   
  
"Chloe," Clark chimed in with a worried frown. "Are you okay?" And, when she still didn't answer, "Chloe!"  
  
The young woman jumped in her seat. Her head snapped up. "What?"  
  
"Are you alright?" Lex asked again. He glanced down at the newspaper, wondering what she'd seen that upset her so much.  
  
Chloe blinked rapidly, as if just coming out of a dream. "Yeah. Y-yeah, I'm fine. I, just, uh…I've gotta go!" Abruptly, she stood. Without a backwards glance, she all but ran towards the exit.   
  
And she took Lex's paper with her.  
  
Looking both startled and confused, it took Clark a moment to react. Finally, he looked towards Lex.  
  
"Sorry, Lex," he said in an apologetic rush. "I'll talk to you later." Then he jumped up and hurried after his friend.  
  
Lex watched them leave in silence, his gaze thoughtful.   
  
Just then, the waitress arrived with Clark's and Chloe's drinks.  
  
"Sir?" she questioned, noticing their absence.  
  
"My friends had to leave suddenly, so I'm afraid you'll have to take those back," Lex smoothly explained. "But could you bring me a copy of the _Smallville Ledger_? Someone borrowed mine."  
  
  
  
*****  
  
"Chloe!" Clark called, hurrying after his friend. "Chloe, wait!"  
  
But she didn't stop. Not until she'd reached his truck.   
  
"Oh, my God," she muttered as she paced back and forth across a six foot stretch of sidewalk. "Oh, my God."  
  
"Chloe?" Clark asked, starting to get a little worried. "What's the matter?"  
  
"This!" Chloe stopped in front of him and held up the newspaper. The headline screamed, in bold letters:  
  
BYSTANDER KILLED IN METROPOLIS BANK ROBBERY SHOOT-OUT.  
  
Included were pictures of the bank in question, and a Latino man who seemed to be in his late twenties.  
  
Clark frowned. He hated stories like that because he knew that, if he'd been there, he probably could've saved that man. But he didn't understand why the story had Chloe so worked up.  
  
"Do you remember that guy I told you about?" she began. "The one who came to my house to deliver the sword Merrick wanted me to have in case he died?" Newspaper clutched in her fists, she gave it a shake. "Well, that's him!"  
  
  
  
  
(TO BE CONTINUED)


	4. Chapter Four

AN: Sorry about the delay. I was working on a challenge fic that turned out to be a real…well, challenge. But it shouldn't be as long until the next update. Part five is already half finished.  
  
**PART FOUR**  
  
"Ye-ouch!" Chloe exclaimed. Using the passenger door of the truck for support, she rose up out of her seat. "Damn it!"  
  
Hands gripping the steering wheel, Clark laughed. He couldn't help it. The entire drive from Smallville, Chloe had been 'fighting' with the sword hidden under her coat. At first, he was concerned. But once he realized the thing wasn't really hurting her…Well, now it was just funny.  
  
_"Why don't you just put it in the back until we get there?" he'd asked at the beginning of their journey.  
  
"No." Chloe shook her head. "I should be able to do this. I mean, I saw __Merrick__ sit down while wearing his sword all the time, and it never gave him any problems. I just have to get used to it."_  
  
Shaking his head at her stubbornness, Clark glanced in Chloe's direction…and found her glaring at him with narrowed eyes.   
  
"Laugh again," she warned, "and, invincible or not, I _will_ find a way to hurt you."  
  
Wisely, Clark swallowed his next chuckle, and wiped the smile off of his face. Clearing his throat, he focused on the road ahead.   
  
Beside him, Chloe carefully lowered herself back into her seat. Then she squirmed a few more minutes, obviously trying, with little success, to get comfortable.  
  
"I hope we're not late," she said as she looked at her watch. "I'd kinda like the chance to blend in before things get started."  
  
"I still don't think this is a good idea," Clark said, voicing his concerns yet again. "I mean, crashing a funeral?"  
  
"Hey, it's all we've got. Robert Ramirez knew Merrick, which means he might have known about Immortals. And, right now, he's the only link I have to finding out more about what I am."  
  
"But you can't exactly interview a dead man," Clark argued.  
  
"True. But we might see or overhear something. If we claim we knew Ramirez, we might even get invited to the wake or something. And you'd be surprised how much people let slip while reminiscing about their dearly departed loved ones."  
  
Clark couldn't contain a bit of a shiver. The whole thing seemed kind of morbid to him.   
  
"Relax, Clark. I'm not going to grill the bereaved for information. All we have to do is listen."  
  
Clark opened his mouth to say something else, but finally decided to let the matter drop. There was no use arguing about it now. Chloe had made up her mind. And, besides, they were almost there.   
  
*****  
  
As the Metropolis skyline loomed on the horizon, Chloe's heart started to race. She took a deep, shaky breath, and gave thanks that she wasn't the type to have panic attacks. Because, if she were, she'd be having one right now.  
  
Merrick's voice—with its slight British accent and touch of humor—echoed through her mind. Not the voice of the man who tried to kill her, but the voice of her teacher.  
  
_You could spend the rest of your life in Smallville, and never meet another of our kind. But go to a large city like Metropolis, and you're likely to sense another Immortal within hours. Fortunately, most will leave you alone. But there are others who won't think twice about taking your head._  
  
Was it any wonder the thought of going to Metropolis terrified her?  
  
Over the years, Smallville had become her home. But she still thought of Metropolis as _her_ city. Where she'd return one day to find fame and fortune as an ace reporter. Which wouldn't happen if she was too scared to set foot outside the Smallville city limits. She already turned down an offer to spend the day shopping with Lana and Nell while her roommate was visiting her aunt. And even while asking Lex for tickets to the softball game, a part of her knew she wasn't going to go.   
  
In a way, she was glad for this fact-finding mission. No matter how scared she was, there was no way she could turn down the chance to find out more about the mysterious man who brought her her sword. And possibly learn more about what she was.  
  
*****  
  
By the time they reached Serenity Gardens Cemetery, Chloe had managed to calm down. Mostly. Because, seriously, what were the odds she'd actually run into another Immortal today?  
  
As she got out of the truck, she straightened her clothes, which were rumpled after the long drive. In order to blend in at the funeral, she'd dressed all in black. From the coat specially designed to conceal a sword—another gift from Merrick—to her turtleneck, slacks, and boots. As she looked down at her all black ensemble, she wondered if she might have overdone it just a little.  
  
She turned to look at Clark, who was walking around the hood of the truck. He was dressed casually in slacks, a white button-down shirt, and a black jacket.   
  
"You ready?" she asked.  
  
"As I'll ever be," he muttered. He looked so close to pouting, Chloe would have laughed if they were anywhere else but at a cemetery.  
  
Shaking her head at his lack of enthusiasm, she stepped into the grass.  
  
*****  
  
Joe Dawson stared at the coffin. He still couldn't believe Robert was dead, killed in such a random, senseless way.   
  
The Watcher glanced at the young man's family, and could almost feel their hearts breaking. He knew his grief paled in comparison to theirs. Still, he felt the loss.  
  
Sighing, he leaned more heavily on his cane. He didn't just feel loss. He felt guilt.  
  
"Joe," his companion asked, placing a supportive hand on his shoulder. "You okay?"  
  
After a pause, Dawson nodded. "Yeah. Thanks Mac."  
  
As the service began, Joe remembered the young man he met so many years ago. He'd helped to train Robert. The moment they met, the two men formed a connection, and became very close in a surprisingly short period of time. As the young man left for his first assignment, Dawson promised to keep in touch. Only, with one thing or another…  
  
The 'phone call he got a few months back was the first he'd seen or heard from the younger Watcher in years. And Robert hadn't called for a friendly chat. No, he had a dilemma. After being inactive for decades, his assignment, William Merrick, was killing again. For months, Robert watched the Immortal terrorize Metropolis. And there was nothing he could do about it.  
  
The dilemma wasn't uncommon for a Watcher. They were supposed to observe and record, but never interfere. It was a hard rule to follow when your assignment was a serial killer. When you watched, with your own eyes, as they selected their victims.  
  
Robert called Joe for support. He wanted someone to help him remain detached, to stick by the rules he'd sworn to obey. But Joe Dawson wasn't as strict about the rules as some of his peers. Blame it on his personal experience with Immortals, but Joe now believed there were some cases when they had to interfere. When truly evil Immortals had to be stopped, preferably, by one of their own kind.  
  
So Joe told Robert to sit tight, that he was going to send someone to help him. But, before he could set things in motion, the problem was solved. William Merrick was dead, killed by his own student.   
  
During their last phone call, Robert sounded so happy. He hadn't gotten into too much trouble for 'letting' Merrick find out about him, or even for delivering a sword to Merrick's student. He had a new assignment, an Immortal who was almost as much of a boy scout as Duncan MacCleod. And he promised to visit Joe, so the two of them could truly renew their friendship.   
  
Only, now, he was dead.  
  
Joe was sinking deeper into melancholy when he felt the man beside him stiffen. Turning to look at his friend, he saw a familiar expression on Mac's face. An expression that said there was another Immortal nearby.  
  
*****  
  
The two teens made their way across the cemetery, towards the group of people beneath a large shade tree. It seemed the funeral services for Robert Ramirez were already in progress. The mourners stood silent, heads bowed, as the priest spoke. It was such a somber scene, Chloe almost felt bad about intruding.   
  
Then, as they got closer, she felt it. A stabbing ache in her temples. An electric hum, like a thousand voices whispering in each ear.  
  
With a startled gasp, Chloe stumbled to a halt.   
  
"Chloe?" Clark asked as he came to a stop behind her. "Are you okay?"  
  
Chloe barely heard him. Heart pounding in her chest, eyes wide with the beginnings of panic, she studied each of the funeral attendees, let her eyes rest on them all, one after the other. When her gaze settled on one man in particular, the buzz in her head stopped.   
  
Tall and commanding, he stood a little apart from everyone else. Hands clasped behind his back, he looked totally in charge, in control. A long, tan overcoat hung from his shoulders, its length fluttering in the breeze. And he was staring at her, a frown clouding his handsome brow.  
  
Heart jumping into her throat, Chloe stepped back, slamming into Clark.  
  
"Whoa!" Clark hands settled on her shoulders. "Chloe? What's wrong?"  
  
"H-he…" Stuttering to a stop, Chloe swallowed and tried again. "An Immortal. There's another Immortal here."  
  
(To Be Continued)


	5. Chapter Five

**AN:** For anyone who's interested, you can see the HIGHLANDER every day at 3 pm and 4 pm Eastern on Spike TV. (Which used to be TNN.) They also repeat the first episode at 1 am, I think. It's a good show. Although, sadly, my favorite season just finished up. But it's still good.  
  
**PART FIVE**  
  
Clark frowned as he studied the funeral attendees. Two men stood apart from the crowd. One had gray hair and a beard, and was leaning on a cane. The other had to be the Immortal. He wore a long overcoat, a perfect place to hide a sword. And he was staring at Chloe, which meant he must've sensed her with that buzz thing.  
  
Clark's heart lurched in his chest. Okay, Chloe was in no real danger. If the man tried anything, Clark knew he could protect her. But the fact that there was a guy standing right there who might, at this very moment, be thinking of killing his friend didn't sit well with Clark. Plus, it made him think of what could've happened if he hadn't come with her today.  
  
"Come on," Clark said, mouth set in a grim line. He took a step back and tried to pull Chloe with him. "Let's go."  
  
But she didn't budge. Instead, she took a shaky breath and said, "It's okay, Clark."  
  
"It's okay?" Clark asked in disbelief. He frowned down at her, as if she'd lost her mind.  
  
"A cemetery is holy ground," she said. "He can't touch me here."  
  
Clark rolled his eyes. He wasn't sure about these Rules of theirs. After all, they wouldn't mean much if the other guy cheated. And how honorable could a bunch of people who went around cutting each other's heads off really be?  
  
Chloe glanced at him over her shoulder. "Think about it, Clark. I came here hoping to learn more about Immortals. And look! There's an Immortal right there, who can tell me all the things Merrick didn't because..." She flinched, as if from some physical pain, before going on. "Well, that he didn't. I still have so many questions, and this guy probably has the answers."   
  
She sounded so reasonable, so calm. Clark would've bought it if her eyes didn't have that wide, panicky look to them.  
  
"Well," he said, "I'm thinking, if he wants your head, he won't be interested in telling you much of anything."  
  
Chloe gave him a long, pitying look. Then she shook her head and turned back to stare at the man.  
  
Clark's jaw clenched as he realized he was about to be ignored. Ignored _and_ patronized, which was always fun.  
  
He didn't like this. Not at all. But aside from picking her up and carrying her to the truck (which he could do with ease, but not without causing a scene) what could he do?  
  
He settled for giving the other Immortal a long, warning glare.  
  
*****  
  
"Joe." Duncan MacCleod kept his voice low in deference to the other mourners. "That's her, isn't it?"  
  
"Yeah." The Watcher frowned in confusion. "She matches the pictures in the file. But what is she doing here?"  
  
"You said she and Ramirez met face-to-face."  
  
"Yeah, Mac, but it was for two minutes, tops. And there's no way he gave her his name." Dawson lips twisted into a frown of displeasure. "Of course, the picture in the paper would've been enough for her to recognize him."  
  
Duncan had to smile at the disgust in Dawson's voice. The Watchers believed in seeing without being seen. They observed from the shadows, and tried to remain inconspicuous. Having a Watcher's picture appear in a newspaper was close to sacrilege to them.  
  
Duncan's amusement faded as he studied the new Immortal. She was so young. A child tossed into a Game of life and death. Forced to pass her first test when her teacher tried to take her head, and left alone to come to terms with her Immortality.  
  
Duncan pushed his hands into the pockets of his coat, and tried to tamp down the traces of anger he still felt towards Joe. He wished his friend had told him about the girl sooner. Mac only knew about her because he'd been there when Joe got the call about Ramirez's. While Joe got involved in Immortal business more often than his peers, he still tried not to interfere unless necessary. And, in this case, he hadn't thought it was necessary. But shaken by news of the younger Watcher's death, Joe told the Highlander everything.   
  
Now, as he studied the girl, all of Duncan's protective, chivalric instincts—the ones Methos liked to make fun of—rose to the surface. He knew what it was like to be newly Immortal and alone, with no-one else like you to turn to for guidance. How lost and freakish it could make you feel. He'd promised to never let another Immortal go through what he had.  
  
Which was why he was here.  
  
*****  
  
As the funeral service continued, Chloe tried to stay strong. But her heart was pounding. The blood was rushing through her ears. Her palms were sweaty.  
  
Okay, so maybe she was going to have a panic attack after all.  
  
But mixed in with the fear was curiosity. A zing of adrenaline surged through her blood. It was the same feeling she got when she was following a hot lead, a mix of anxiety and excitement that could be addictive. She found herself wishing the service would end, so that whatever was going to happen could happen.  
  
Finally, the service did end. The man with the cane went to speak to some of the other mourners.  
  
And the Immortal started straight towards them.  
  
"Oh, God," Chloe whispered, grabbing Clark's arm.   
  
Maybe Clark picked up on her panic. When he said, "Okay, we're leaving now," he sounded all forceful and determined. And, suddenly, running away didn't seem like such a bad idea to Chloe.  
  
But she didn't like to give in to fear. Not when she was on a story, and not now.  
  
"No, Clark," she said, sounding braver than she felt. "If I'm going to meet another Immortal, this is the place to do it." Decision made, she released Clark's arm and took a step away from him.  
  
"Hey." This time, Clark did the arm grabbing. "What are you doing?"  
  
"I'm going to go talk to him. By myself."  
  
"No, you're not. If you really want to do this, I'm…"  
  
"Clark," Chloe interrupted. She removed her arm from his grasp. "Stay."  
  
From the look on his face, he didn't like being treated like a naughty collie. But, with a resigned sigh, he put his hands in his pockets and took a step back.  
  
"Just keep the super speed on standby. Okay?" Chloe said.  
  
Clark nodded. The prospect of using his powers to save the day seemed to make him feel better.  
  
Wetting her suddenly dry lips, Chloe walked towards the man. She was more aware than ever of the sword tucked away in her coat. And the fact that she barely knew how to use it. On the other hand, this man had probably had years of practice. Or more like centuries.  
  
_We're on holy ground,_ a reassuring voice chanted in her head. _We're on holy ground. We're on holy ground._  
  
The two Immortals stopped a few feet from each other. As the silence stretched between them, Chloe realized she had no idea what to say. Luckily, he didn't seem to have that problem.  
  
"I'm Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod," he said, a hint of an accent coloring his voice.  
  
Chloe took a deep, uneven breath. Then, taking another step forward, she stuck out her hand. "Chloe Sullivan. Of Smallville."  
  
(TO BE CONTINUED)


	6. Chapter Six

**PART SIX**  
  
_One week later._  
  
The sounds of metal striking metal rang through the Kent barn.  
  
"Watch your feet," Duncan commanded as he lunged forward.   
  
"I am," Chloe gasped, as she stumbled back a step. The clang of Duncan's katana striking her sword sent a shockwave up her sore arms.   
  
"Keep your balance," Duncan continued.  
  
"I am!" Chloe exclaimed, just resisting the urge to take another step back. Her thoughts on planting her feet, she almost didn't block the next strike.  
  
Today's exercise was all about defense. It was Chloe's job to try to block all of MacCleod's blows without getting pushed back. Getting pushed back was bad, because it meant you were at a disadvantage. Well, unless you _wanted_ to get pushed back, which was another lesson.  
  
Chloe groaned as she deflected another rapid-fire series of strikes and thrusts. She felt like her arms were about to fall off. And her legs weren't doing much better.   
  
The exercise reminded her of those video games she always hated. The ones where you had to stop a bunch of balls from hitting a wall or something. And, every second, the balls came faster and faster until stopping them was just impossible, and you wanted to scream in frustration.  
  
Duncan's sword was like those balls, so fast she could barely keep track of it, let alone block it. Not only that, but she had to keep track of her feet at the same time. And the scary part was she was pretty sure he was taking it easy on her.  
  
Chloe raised her sword in time to deflect an overhead blow. The force of it quaked down her arms, causing her to stagger back.  
  
"Hold your ground," MacCleod ordered.  
  
Chloe couldn't answer this time. She was too busy trying not to…  
  
Suddenly, Chloe's feet got tangled up. That, plus another clashing of their swords, sent her crashing to the ground.  
  
"Umph," she grunted as she landed on her butt. The shockwave traveled up her tailbone, her spine, her neck, and didn't stop until her teeth got a good rattle. Her sword flew out of her hands, and clattered on the ground a few feet away.  
  
"Chloe!" Clark, who'd been standing by the wall, where he could observe without getting in the way, hurried to her side. He knelt down next to her. "Are you okay?"  
  
After a moment of stunned silence, she wheezed, "Uh, yeah. I'm good." She wrapped her arm around her ribs, which had also gotten rattled. "I just…need to sit for a minute."  
  
"That's was much better," Duncan said, coming to stand over them. "That's the longest you've lasted so far."  
  
"Whoopee," Chloe muttered sarcastically, even though a part of her did feel some pride. The skills that had dulled from disuse since Merrick's death were coming back. Plus, she was learning some new stuff.  
  
"You up for another round?" he asked, his Scottish brogue thickening for just a second.  
  
"No," Clark answered before she could. "You guys have been through this four times, already. Don't you think it's time to call it a day?"  
  
"Clark," Chloe began. While calling it a day sounded good to her aches and pains, she wished he'd ease up just a little. True, she was glad he was there for her training sessions. While she was starting to trust Duncan, she hadn't quite forgotten enough about her experience with Merrick—whom she'd also trusted—to be completely at ease with him. Not alone. And especially not when the swords started flying. Still, this overprotective thing Clark had going on was getting out of hand. "If Mac wants…"  
  
"No, it's okay," MacCleod interrupted. "I almost forgot I'm meeting Joe for dinner in Metropolis."  
  
"You ready to stand up now?" Clark asked her.  
  
"I think so," Chloe said uncertainly. "But take it slow."  
  
Taking her arm, Clark carefully helped her to her feet. Chloe had to lean on him for a minute, until she was able to find her balance.  
  
"How is Joe?" Chloe asked, wincing as she messaged her left arm. "Since we haven't seen him all week, I guess he's not finished taking care of that business you mentioned."   
  
"Hmmmm," Duncan answered, walking over to a stack of hay bales where his sword case rested. "But he seems to be enjoying himself."  
  
Chloe's eyes narrowed. So far, she didn't know any more about Joe than she'd found out the day she met him. She knew he'd been a friend of Ramirez's, and also knew about Immortals. Apparently, Ramirez told Joe about this newbie Immortal in Smallville whose mentor tried to take her head. Joe told Mac, who decided it was kind of his duty to come to her rescue, to take up her training where Merrick left off. In fact, he'd intended to drive to Smallville right after the funeral.  
  
After assuring Chloe he was there to help her, and she'd be perfectly safe off of holy ground with him, Duncan took her, Clark and Joe to a nearby eatery.  
  
When the older Immortal went off to make a phone call, Joe took it upon himself to ease some of Chloe's doubts.  
  
"You have to understand Mac," he said, leaning his cane against the wall. Lowering his voice a little, he continued. "He's over four hundred years old, and…"  
  
"Wait!" Chloe exclaimed, eyes twice their normal size. As some of the other customers turned to stare at her outburst, she leaned across the table and whispered, "Four _hundred_?"  
  
"_Years_?" Clark tacked on, looking as shocked as she felt.  
  
"Yeah," Joe continued, as if it was no big deal. But there was definitely laughter in his eyes. "He lived through the age of chivalry, and has a strict code of honor. He definitely takes all of that 'protecting the weak and innocent' stuff to heart."  
  
Chloe frowned. She didn't think she liked being called 'weak' or 'innocent'. Although, to a four hundred year old man, she probably seemed as innocent as a new born babe.  
  
"You have no idea how many young Immortals Mac's helped over the years," Joe continued. "Believe me, if there's one man in this world I know I can trust, mortal or Immortal, it's Duncan MacCleod."  
  
Seeing the sincerity in his eyes, Chloe started to believe him. And she wished she'd gotten to know him better this past week. But, while Duncan came to Smallville and moved into the Smallville Inn, Joe stayed in Metropolis to "take care of business."  
  
Trying not to limp, Chloe walked across the room to retrieve her sword.  
  
"I've got it!" Clark said. In an instant, he was by her side, snatching up the sword before she could even start to bend down.   
  
"Thanks," she said. As she took the sword, she glanced over at her new teacher. Mac was watching them out of the corner of his eye, a hint of a smile curling his lips. He seemed to find some humor in Clark's protectiveness.  
  
Gritting her teeth, Chloe walked over to her own sword case. She was trying to see Clark's actions as 'cute' and 'sweet'. And, most of the time, she did. But, the rest of the time, it got on her nerves.  
  
She didn't get it. She was Immortal now. Okay, she wasn't invulnerable like Clark. But her injuries healed in 24 hours or less. She'd probably never get a cold or the 'flu again. (Or maybe she would, but they'd go away in hours instead of days. She'd ask Duncan about it later.) Pretty much the only thing that could do permanent damage to her was losing her head.  
  
So why was Clark suddenly treating her like an invalid?  
  
(TO BE CONTINUED)


	7. Chapter Seven

**PART SEVEN**  
  
  
"Hey, Chlo," Clark said as he breezed into the _Torch_ office. He dropped his backpack on the nearest chair. "What are you doing?"   
  
"Nothing much," the reporter said as her fingers danced over the computer keys. "Just working on the background check I've been doing on Duncan."  
  
Clark, who was about to take off his jacket, froze. It took a full minute for what she said to really sink in.  
  
"You're what?" he finally asked, voice thick with disbelief. Jacket forgotten, he hurried to her desk.   
  
"I know any info I find will only be scratching the surface," Chloe continued. "The guy is four hundred years old, after all. Still, I figure what's there will give me some idea…"  
  
"Wait!" Clark interrupted. Just to be sure he heard her right, he asked, "You're doing a background check on Mac?"  
  
Chloe frowned at him. "Well, yeah," she said, as if doing background checks was the most natural, reasonable thing in the world. "Why are you acting so surprised? You knew about this."  
  
"Uh, no, I didn't," Clark said. "I think I would've remembered if you mentioned digging into Mac's past in your free time."  
  
"Oh." After a thoughtful pause, she shrugged. "Well, now you know." She started to type even as she talked. "I mean, I like Mac and all. I even think we can trust him. But, after Merrick, I figured it wouldn't hurt to know a little more about my mentor than what he decides to tell me."  
  
As Clark sat on the edge of her desk, he tried to decide how he felt about this. His own unique situation made him a little touchy about investigating people. Especially when, A, they hadn't done anything wrong and, B, he liked them.  
  
Not that he'd intended to like Mac. After Merrick, Clark was determined to be suspicious of everything Mac did or said. If he stayed suspicious, he'd be on his guard if the elder Immortal tried anything.  
  
But there was something about Duncan MacCleod that made you want to trust him. In a way, he reminded Clark of his dad. Look in his eyes, and you just knew the guy had strict ideas about right and wrong, and doing the right thing, no matter how hard it was.  
  
Still, once he thought about it, he realized a background check wasn't a bad idea.   
  
"What did you find out?" he asked, feeling only a twinge of guilt.  
  
Always happy to share information, Chloe grinned. "Well, like you, he seems to spend his free time doing the 'hero' thing. Stopping assassination attempts. Rescuing kidnap victims. Helping to put murderers behind bars."  
  
"Whoa." Clark's eyebrows rose nearly to his hairline. "That's some resume."   
  
"And that's just the stuff we know about. I mean, it's not like every detail of his life for the past 400 years would be public record. Although," and her eyes sparkled with the light of curiosity, "I have found the name 'Duncan MacCleod' in news reports going back a hundred years or so. For example, in the 1920s, a Duncan MacCleod saved a young boy from a burning building. Now, most people would assume the similar name is just a coincidence, right? But, considering…"  
  
"Yeah." Clark agreed. And his respect for the guy went up several notches.   
  
As she punched a few computer keys, Chloe started to snicker. "And look at this."  
  
Clark left his perch on the desk and went to stand behind Chloe's chair. When he saw what was on the computer screen, his eyes flew wide open. It was the cover of one of those historical romances his mom liked. On it was a couple dressed—barely—in period costume, clutched in a passionate embrace. And the hero bore an uncanny resemblance to Mac.  
  
"It's a romance novel based on the 'legend'"—Chloe made air quotes—"of Duncan MacLeod, a mythical hero who appeared in various tales of bravery in several countries over the centuries. Of course, the writer insists MacLeod can't be real, because he'd have to have been hundreds of years old to do all the things they say he did." Chloe smirked at the irony. "She says MacCleod's a folk hero, like Paul Bunyan, or John Henry. A tale told around the fire to entertain the kids, or inspire the troops before battle."  
  
By now, Clark's mouth was hanging open, and his mind was officially blown. The fact that Mac was four hundred years-old was pretty big in and of itself. Now, they find out the guy was some kind of legend?  
  
Clark wondered what it would be like to have people tell stories about you. To have them look up to you as some kind of mythical hero. Really, he couldn't imagine how that would feel, and doubted he'd ever find out.  
  
The sound of the printer in action brought Clark out of his reverie. "What are you doing?"  
  
"I'm not sure," Chloe said. She tapped her chin thoughtfully. "I'll either save the picture in case I ever need blackmail material, or I'll show it to Duncan right away just to see the look on his face. Or I might hang it up on my wall. For research purposes, of course." When she saw Clark's frown, she rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on! It's not every day you meet someone who's likeness has appeared, hardly dressed, on the cover of a romance novel."  
  
Clark shook his head in disapproval, even as he made plans to be there when Chloe presented the picture to the elder Immortal. It would be one of those priceless moments a person just didn't want to miss.  
  
As Chloe stood up, her hand hit her pencil holder. As it tumbled to the floor, pencils and pens skittered across the linoleum.  
  
"Damn!" she hissed as she started to bend down.  
  
"It's okay." Clark took a quick step forward. "I'll…"  
  
"Clark!" Chloe exclaimed. As she stuck out her arm to block him, the back of her hand slammed into his chest.  
  
Startled, Clark stopped. "What's the matter?"  
  
"Well, first of all, _ow_!" Grimacing, Chloe shook the hand she'd smacked him with. "What are you made of, steel?"   
  
Clark shrugged, a smug smile curling his lips. Hey, she was the one who hit him. And, even though it hadn't hurt, he was a little miffed.  
  
"Secondly," Chloe waved at the pencils on the floor, "you have to stop doing that."  
  
"What? Picking up pencils?"  
  
Chloe glared at him. "No. Acting like I'll break in half if I trip, or bend over, or—god forbid—get startled by a loud noise. I mean, I wasn't all that fragile before I became Immortal, and I'm definitely not _now_."  
  
Clark sighed. He supposed he had been going a little overboard lately. He didn't mean to. Not really. And it wasn't that he thought Chloe couldn't take care of herself. But he was still having a hard time dealing with Chloe being an Immortal. Or, rather, with her having to fight other Immortals to the death. Even though he'd been helping her train, he'd kind of been in denial about it until now. But Duncan's arrival made it all too real. And stirred up some of the guilt he'd managed to push to the back of his mind.  
  
For a moment, he considered telling Chloe what was really bothering him. But it would bring up some stuff she didn't seem any more eager to dwell on than he was.  
  
"Sorry," he said as he tried to smile. "From now on, I'll let you pick up your own pencils."   
  
"Or, here's a thought," Chloe began. "Let's do it together."  
  
Clark grinned. "Okay."  
  
  
(TO BE CONTINUED)


	8. Chapter Eight

**PART EIGHT**  
  
  
"So, what do you think?" Chloe waved her hands to take in their surroundings.   
  
As he took a seat at a corner table, MacLeod studied the coffee house. The Talon was filled with customers. The colors were rich and vibrant, the music energetic.   
  
"It's nice," Duncan said. "if a bit young for my tastes. You said your roommate owns it."  
  
"She has a partner, but he's mostly of the silent variety. Lana takes care of the day-to-day running of things."  
  
Duncan was impressed. The young woman he met a few days ago didn't seem the type who'd take on the demanding task of running a small business. Then again, after four hundred years, he knew better than to judge a book by it's cover.   
  
A waitress came to their table to take there orders. Once she'd left, Duncan asked, "So, where's Clark?" When Chloe called and asked him to meet her here, he'd assumed the young man would be there as well. After all, he'd been there for every meeting and training session, ever watchful and suspicious. After Chloe's experience with Merrick, Duncan could understand her friend's protectiveness.  
  
  
"Clark's probably still at the library," Chloe said. "He has a huge project due in a few days, and he hasn't even scratched the surface. Which is not a pretty spot to be in, let me tell you."   
  
"I know," Duncan smiled. "You can always tell which students are behind on an assignment. There's this look of panic on their faces when you mention when it's due."  
  
"Hey, that's right!" Chloe exclaimed. "You've taught a few college courses."  
  
MacLeod's eyebrow peaked in surprise. "I have," he admitted. "And how did you know that?"  
  
"Uh, did I say that out loud?" she asked. A look of chagrin crossed her expressive face. When Duncan nodded, Chloe squirmed in her seat for a moment. "Well, I-I, uh, sort of…Googled you."  
  
"You what?!" Duncan asked with a bark of startled laughter. He wasn't up on the latest teen slang. Things changed so fast that, just as he got used to one slang word or phrase, another came along to replace it. And, right now, he was almost afraid to find out what this new word meant.   
  
"I Googled you," Chloe repeated. "You know, looked your name up on the Internet?"   
  
"Oh," Duncan said with a relieved chuckle.  
  
Chloe held up her hands in supplication. "Now, don't get upset. I know some people don't like having their pasts looked into. But, I promise, I didn't do anything too obtrusive. Or illegal. I mean, anyone with Internet access could do what I did. A five year-old _child_ could do it if they know how to spell." She paused to take a breath. "So, really, it isn't…"  
  
"Chloe," Duncan interrupted. "It's alright. I'm not upset."  
  
Chloe gave him a suspicious look. "You're not?"   
  
"No. In fact, under the circumstances, I can't blame you for trying to find out more about me." Besides, a few years back, he'd learned he'd been under the close scrutiny of various Watchers for much of his Immortal life. The fact that Chloe decided to 'look him up' seemed mild by comparison.  
  
Also, Duncan had known several reporters in his lifetime. And the great ones had three things in common. Ambition, talent, and insatiable curiosity. They had a need to know, even if their search for the truth put them in danger. That spirit lead one reporter to remain on the rooftop of a hotel in the heart of London while Nazi planes attacked the city. She stayed, even after everyone else but Duncan had fled, determined to make the radio transmission that told the rest of the world what was happening.  
  
"Huh." Chloe seemed lost now that she didn't have to defend herself. "I've had people completely go off on me for doing a harmless little background check on them. But, you're really not upset?"  
  
"No," Duncan assured her. "Although, I am wondering why you asked me to meet you here. Is there something you want to talk about?"  
  
"Not really. I just realized all we've done since we've met is train. Or talk about training, and the Game, and being Immortal. And I think it's past time we, you know, hang out. Get to know each other better. Shoot the breeze."  
  
"Okay." Amused, Duncan held up his hand up in surrender. He was sure she could go on forever. "What do you want to talk about?"  
  
"Welllll…" Chloe's eyes sparkled with curiosity. She planted her elbow on the table, and rested her chin in the palm of her hand. "Let's start simple. I grew up in Metropolis. How about you?"  
  
So he told her what it was like to grow up in the Highlands of Scotland in the 16th century. And watching Chloe listen was its own entertainment. Her eyes widened when she learned he was a chieftain's son. Her mouth formed into an O when he described his first death, and 'waking up' in a field of bodies. She gasped when he told her he was cast out of his village because they thought he was a demon. After all, only a demon could return from the dead. And, not knowing what an Immortal was, he'd been half-convinced they were right.  
  
That was the worst part. Not knowing. As much as Duncan despised Merrick in retrospect, at least Chloe had someone to tell her what she was. But Merrick hadn't told her everything. Some were things she had a right to know. But others…  
  
She was just so young. And in spite of that, in spite of what Merrick did to her, she'd adjusted to her Immortality in ways that took some of their kind years, even decades. But there were some things about her knew life Duncan didn't feel she needed to know. Not yet. Because those things could shake her young world apart.   
  
"Duncan?" Chloe's asked, her voice interrupting his reverie. "Are you okay? You kind of drifted off for a second."  
  
"Sorry. I'm fine," Duncan said. "Where was I?"  
  
"You were about to tell me how you met you're teacher. I think you said his name was…Connor?"  
  
*****  
  
"Chloe?"  
  
The young woman started in her seat. Hand pressed to her chest, she looked up at him.  
  
"Oh, Lex," she gasped. "Hi."  
  
"Hello yourself." Lex took the seat across from her. "Didn't mean to startle you."  
  
"That's okay. My mind was a million miles away."  
  
_And still is,_ Lex realized. She looked like she'd just been told something astonishing, and it hadn't quite sunk in yet. But while she seemed overwhelmed, there was a glimmer of excitement in her eyes.   
  
As he leaned back in his seat, he noticed there were two coffee mugs on the table. "Is Clark here, too?"   
  
Chloe, a keen observer herself, followed his gaze to the cups. "Actually, I'm here with another friend. He went outside, where it's not so loud, to take a phone call."   
  
"Hmm. Anyone I know?"  
  
"Well, he doesn't live here in Smallville but, considering all the people he probably knows, it's not impossible."   
  
Lex's curiosity was piqued. He wondered if this new friend of Chloe's was as interesting as William Merrick.  
  
"By the way," she continued, "thanks again for the tickets. And I'm sorry I couldn't make it to the game."  
  
"You're welcome. And you didn't miss much."  
  
"Oh, come on! I heard you were the star of the show."  
  
"Which, considering my teammates and the opposition, isn't saying much."  
  
Chloe studied him for one long moment. Then, a slow grin lit up her face. "You know, modesty doesn't really work on you."  
  
Lex returned the smile. "So I've been told."  
  
Chloe was about to say something else when she suddenly stiffened in her seat. Tension that hadn't been there before radiated off of her body. Her smile vanished replaced by a wince of pain.   
  
Before he could ask what was wrong, she turned to look towards the door. And, in an instant, she relaxed.  
  
When she turned back to Lex, her smile had returned. "Introduction time."  
  
Lex was still puzzling over Chloe's behavior when his gaze settled on the stranger. Blue eyes sharp with interest, he studied the new arrival. Like William Merrick, he seemed out of place in small town Smallville. He had the look of a man who had seen the world several times over. He walked with the grace of a fighter. And Lex had no doubt that challenging him could be bad for your health.  
  
As the man reached the table, Lex realized he was under the same piercing scrutiny. Only years of being examined like a specimen under a microscope by reporters, and his father, kept Lex from feeling uneasy.  
  
"Hey, Duncan," Chloe said. "I want you to meet someone. Duncan MacLeod, this is Lex Luthor. Lex Luthor, Duncan MacLeod."   
  
Lex stood and held out his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you."  
  
Lex could tell by the man's expression that MacLeod was familiar with the name. He'd no doubt heard all the stories about the evil Lionel Luthor, and thought the apple hadn't fallen far from the tree.  
  
Only, he didn't act the way strangers usually did when meeting Lex. Instead, MacLeod returned his handshake with a friendly smile.   
  
"Nice meeting you, too," the man said, the hint of an accent coloring his voice. "Would you care to join us?"  
  
Lex supposed the fact that a stranger's friendliness could throw him off guard said something about him. "Um, I'm afraid I can't stay. I have a conference call in half an hour."  
  
"Really?" Chloe expression was a tad too innocent. "What about? Anything interesting?"  
  
"Not really. In fact, I'm sure you'd find it extremely boring." As she rolled her eyes, Lex smiled. "I'll see you later, Chloe." With a nod in Duncan MacLeod's direction, Lex left the Talon.  
  
*****  
  
He watched, a face lost in a sea of faces, oblivious to the music, the laughter, the throng of teen-agers that milled around him. His entire focus was on one man, one face.  
  
Seeing Lex Luthor smile caused a ball of rage to tighten, like a fist, in his chest. He didn't deserve that smile, or whatever happiness had caused it. Didn't deserve the air of satisfaction, of confidence, that surrounded him.   
  
Didn't deserve anything but pain.  
  
Lex Luthor left the Talon. Mouth set in a hard, grim line, his unseen observer rose to follow.  
  
  
  


(TO BE CONTINUED)


	9. Chapter Nine

**PART NINE**  
  
  
A still, anticipatory quiet filled the loft.  
  
"Okay, Clark." Chloe planted her elbows on the coffee table and leaned forward. "Hit it."  
  
"Um, are you sure you don't want to move back a little?" asked Clark, who sat on the other side of the coffee table. "You know, just in case."  
  
"Oh, come on. I trust you, Clark. Just do it already."  
  
"Alright," Clark sighed. He took a deep breath and stared at the first graham cracker/marshmallow/chocolate sandwich. As the air between his eyes and the s'more distorted, the concoction began to melt together.  
  
"I still can't believe you handed your project in on time," Chloe said as she opened a can of Cola. Careful to avoid the path of his heat vision, she set the soda close to his elbow. "At least, not without having to call me at least once for help.  
  
"Hmmm," Clark mumbled, his real focus on the s'more. The first time he did this, he lost his concentration and…Well, cleaning marshmallow/chocolate goo off the ceiling hadn't been a whole lot of fun.  
  
"I bet you weren't nearly as behind as you claimed to be. You were obviously pulling a Scotty. Okay, I think that's hot enough."  
  
As Clark pushed the paper plate with its melted s'more across the table, he frowned. "A Scotty?"  
  
"Yeah, you know." An apple in one hand, a knife in the other, she waved both around as she spoke. "Captain Kirk asks Scotty how long it will take to fix the engines, and Scotty says, 'Foor hours, cap'n.' Kirk tells him he has two. But Scotty knows all along he can do it in one so, when he gets it done quicker than Kirk expects, he looks like a miracle worker."  
  
"O-kaaaay," Clark drawled. Not sure what she was getting at, he shrugged and turned his attention to his own s'more. "And your Scottish accent kinda sucks."  
  
"Yeah, I know," Chloe cheerfully agreed. She put the apple on a napkin and started to cut it. "I thought it would get better after listening to Duncan talk for a while, but it hasn't worked out that way. And you would not believe how amazing his life has been. I mean, that first night, we were talking at the Talon for nearly two hours, and we barely made it up to the 1700s. Since then, I think he's mainly been sticking to the highlights, and we still haven't reached the 20th century yet. I mean, it's just incredible. All the things he's seen and done…"  
  
Listening with half an ear as she talked about Mac's incredible life, Clark looked up from his s'more. In an instant, he realized Chloe was so busy talking, and trying to say everything she wanted to say as fast as possible, she wasn't paying attention to the apple she was cutting. But, before he could utter a warning, the knife slipped. The blade cut deep, slicing through the flesh at the base of her thumb.  
  
With a startled gasp, Chloe dropped the knife. Within moments, blood welled up from the gash. It flowed onto the apple slices beneath her hand, soaked into the napkin.   
  
"Oh, my God," Clark whispered, rising up onto his knees. Feeling a little queasy at the sight of all that blood, he grabbed a clean napkin and pressed it to the cut. Soon, the napkin was almost completely red.  
  
"Okay," Chloe gasped, her face frozen in a grimace of pain. With her uninjured hand, she squeezed her wrist, as if that would stop the pain from traveling up her arm. "That hurts."  
  
"I'll bet it does," Clark said. He gave her a scolding look. "You weren't watching what you were doing."  
  
"I know, I know," she breathed. "Don't argue with the girl in pain, here. Besides, you were the one who wanted apples. I was happy with empty calories."  
  
Rolling his eyes, Clark removed the soiled napkin and started to replace it with a clean one. Only, before he could, he saw sparks of energy come to life inside the wound. They were like little pinpricks of electricity, dancing back and forth across the gash. Within seconds, the cut started to shrink. Before his eyes, it got smaller and smaller until, finally, it was just gone.  
  
For a moment, Clark just sat there, frozen. With his first aid skills no longer needed, he wasn't sure what to do next. He'd seen Chloe heal before, but it never ceased to amaze him.   
  
"Whew." With a sigh of relief, Chloe clenched her blood covered—but now unharmed—hand into a fist. "Glad that's over. Lucky it was a small one, so it didn't take long to heal." Nose crinkled in distaste, she glanced down at the coffee table. "Guess we better clean up, huh?"  
  
That also amazed him. Chloe was tough, but she used to make a fuss over stuff like this. Now, she was so casual about it, like bleeding all over the place was no big deal. And her almost carefree attitude towards being injured made him a little uneasy.  
  
The two teens worked together to clean up the mess, which didn't take long. And, after Clark reheated their s'mores, they were finally able to enjoy their snack.  
  
"So, what are we doing tomorrow?" Chloe asked. She licked melted marshmallow off of her fingers. "We have to do something. There are no big stories brewing. My dad's going to Metropolis for some barbeque birthday bash for one of his old friends. _Duncan__'s_ going to Metropolis because Joe's leaving to go back to…"  
  
"Wait!" Clark interrupted. He was surprised. And a little disappointed. "Joe's leaving."  
  
"Yeah," Chloe answered. "I was hoping he'd come to Smallville eventually. He seemed to know a lot about Immortal stuff. Plus, I wanted to know more about how Ramirez knew Merrick. But, according to Duncan, he only stayed this long to visit an old friend who runs the Metropolis branch of some organization. Must be some kind of charity or something."  
  
Clark frowned. He'd hoped to see the older man again. After all, they had a lot in common. Both had Immortal friends who were expected to risk their lives fighting in a Game for a Prize some didn't even believe was real. At any moment, a stranger could challenge Chloe or Mac to a duel to the death. And, if their opponent was stronger, faster, better…  
  
Since Joe and Mac seemed to be good friends, Clark wanted to know how he dealt with that. Plus, asking Joe some of the questions he had seemed less intimidating than asking a 400 year old legend.  
  
Now, it looked like he wouldn't get the chance to ask him anything.  
  
After a short debate over how they would spend Saturday, Chloe and Clark decided on the movies.   
  
"We'll make a day of it," Chloe decreed. "Starting with breakfast. I'll whip us up some of my famous…"  
  
"No!" Clark exclaimed, unable to hide his alarm. As Chloe gave him a startled look, he forced himself to sound calm. "I mean, why don't you come over here for breakfast? My mom is gonna make chocolate chip waffles tomorrow. I know how you like those."  
  
"Well, I kinda wanted you to try my blueberry muffins. I've gotten much better at making them since the last time. But I love your mom's waffles." Chloe paused, smiling at the thought of Martha Kent's cooking. "So I guess I'll be here bright and early in the a.m."  
  
"Good," Clark smiled. Heaving a sigh of relief, he bit into his s'more.  
  
*****  
  
  
Frowning, Lex examined the damage. Thanks to the light of a nearly full moon, he could clearly see the tire was flat.   
  
It didn't make any sense. Lex checked over whatever car he was driving before he left the mansion. It was a habit. All of the tires on this one had been fine. And he hadn't noticed anything odd when he stopped at the Talon for a cappuccino to go. But it seemed that, somewhere along the line, he'd developed a slow leak. Only, not so slow. Less than an hour outside of Smallville, and driving on this tire was out of the question.  
  
Sighing as he straitened up, Lex considered calling his auto club, but decided against it. He could have the tire replaced with a spare long before help arrived.  
  
As he took off his jacket, Lex glanced down the road. He could have sworn there was another car behind him. He'd caught a glimpse of distant headlights in his rearview mirror several times and, ever since he'd stopped, he'd been subconsciously waiting for the mystery car to pass him by. Only, it never did.  
  
"They must've turned off somewhere," he decided.  
  
As he tossed his jacket onto the driver's seat, he cast a glance towards the trees that hugged the road. He had a vague, uneasy feeling. Probably because was effectively stranded, after dark, out in the middle of nowhere. He felt vulnerable, which definitely wasn't one of his favorite emotions. He knew his feelings had no basis. It was just the human brain's tendency to be more alert, more wary, in situation like this. Still, the sooner he changed the tire, the better.  
  
Opening the trunk, he started to remove the spare.  
  
He never saw the figure that stepped out of the shadows of the nearby trees. Didn't hear that figure move, with quick stealth, towards his back.  
  
Lex didn't know he wasn't alone until he felt the impact of something hard and solid slamming into his head.   
  
  
(TO BE CONTINUED)


	10. Chapter Ten

**PART TEN**  
  
  
Chloe woke with a gasp. Her eyes popped open, and she caught a glimpse of a high, sun-speckled ceiling before the bright light forced her to close them again.   
  
With a soft groan, she put a hand to the back of her head. She wasn't in pain now. Being Immortal had its advantages. There was no swollen lump for her to feel. Her hair wasn't stiff with dried blood. But the memory of pain, still fresh, made her grimace.  
  
As other memories came flooding back, Chloe's heart raced. She remembered waking up way too early for a Saturday morning. She said good-bye to her dad as he left for Metropolis. ("Be careful," he'd said as he closed the door.) A few minutes later, she left herself, on her way to the Kents' for that chocolate chip waffle breakfast.  
  
She never made it. As she opened her car door, she caught a glimpse of movement in the driver's-side window. And, before she could react, she was hit in the head by something hard and heavy.  
  
Chloe wondered what she'd gotten mixed up in this time. Had one of her investigations made someone nervous? Had she asked the wrong person the wrong question?   
  
Chloe's heart thudded in her chest, and the first stirrings of panic made her stomach clench. Someone snuck up behind her and snatched her from her own driveway. She had no idea where she was, or why she was here. There was a chance someone knew she was missing by now. But, even if they did, they wouldn't know where to look for her.  
  
_Oh, my God!_ she thought. A shiver raced up her spine, and goose bumps prickled her skin. What if her captor was in the room with her? They could be watching her right now!  
  
Feeling suddenly vulnerable lying flat on her back with her eyes shut, she quickly sat up. Her frantic, too-wide gaze took stock of her surroundings in an instant. She was in some kind of storage room. Or a room being used for storage. It was filled with old desks, boxes, chairs. A broom stood in the corner, a dirty sheet and some empty paint cans right next to it. Windows at two of the four walls flooded the room with sunlight.  
  
In the next instant, she realized she _wasn't_. But the room's other occupant wasn't some thug-type with a menacing scar, towering over her as he waved a gun in her face. He was lying a few yards away, in a position similar to the one she'd been in. And he was very familiar.  
  
"Oh, my God," Chloe gasped. "Lex!"   
  
*****  
  
Someone was shaking him.   
  
Lex frowned, displeased that his sleep had been disturbed. He wanted to push the intrusive hands away, but he couldn't. His body felt heavy, his arms and legs weighted down. His mind felt sluggish, unusual since he usually woke fully alert. Or, at least, closer to it than this.  
  
"Lex?" a voice called. It sounded faint, muffled and far away. "Lex?"  
  
Lex turned his head towards the voice, and a shaft of pain shot through his head. It was so sharp, so intense, he couldn't stop the soft moan that escaped his lips.  
  
"Lex!" The voice was excited now. "Can you hear me?"  
  
Teeth gritted, Lex waited for the pain to pass. As it faded into a dull, faint ache, so did some of the cobwebs that clouded his mind. As he became more alert, he realized he was lying on something hard, unyielding. It lacked the soft luxury of his bed.  
  
"Lex! Are you awake?"  
  
And, suddenly, the voice was too loud. Wincing, Lex took a deep breath. Seconds later, he forced his eyes open. There was someone leaning over him. At first they were a blur, and all he could really make out was a mass of golden blond hair. But, slowly, the figure came into focus.   
  
"Chloe?" he said, his voice hoarse and thick. Waking to find Chloe Sullivan staring down at him was not what he'd expected.  
  
The young woman in question let out a sigh of relief. "Oh, thank God! I've been trying to wake you up for at least five minutes."  
  
And Lex realized this wasn't his bedroom. He was lying on the floor, in a room he'd never seen before.   
  
"Where are we?" he asked, his voice thick and hoarse.  
  
"I have no idea." Chloe looked around the room. "I'm guessing it's an abandoned office building. Maybe an old factory or warehouse."   
  
Lex frowned. "And how did we get here?"  
  
"I don't know that either. I just woke up myself. And, before you ask, I haven't seen our hosts, either. So, I'm as much in the dark as you are."  
  
Lex studied her with sharp blue eyes. He saw fear in her eyes, but not as much as he'd expect. Then again, she'd been abducted almost as many times as he had.   
  
She also seemed to be in better condition than he was. Maybe she'd escaped the conk on the head he'd been subjected to. So, how had she been subdued. Chloroform, perhaps?  
  
Lex sighed. Exasperated by the lack of information, he closed his eyes. Even in his current state—with his thoughts fuzzy around the edges—his brain couldn't be still. His mind sifted, searched, tried to find the pieces and figure out the puzzle. And, when he looked in one dark corners of his memory, it all came flooding back.  
  
The flat tire. Reaching into the trunk for the spare. Then, pain and darkness.  
  
"Damn it," Lex softly cursed. _Not again?_  
  
"Yep, it looks like we've been kidnapped," Chloe agreed, almost as if she'd read his mind.   
  
Lex shook his head, and felt another stab of pain. He could think of several reasons why he might be kidnapped. Money was the most obvious, of course. (Although anyone who expected Lionel Luthor to pay any kind of a ransom to get his son back, they were in for a rude awakening.) And there was always revenge. Both Luthors had their share of enemies. Angry business rivals. Disgruntled employees. Dissatisfied allies.  
  
But none of those options explained what Chloe was doing here.  
  
"How do you feel?" the young woman asked.  
  
"Fine," Lex replied as he tried to sit up. The faint, dull headache became an insistent throbbing.  
  
"Hey, don't move!" Chloe commanded. She placed her hands on his shoulders. "We don't know how badly you're hurt."  
  
Moaning softly, Lex allowed himself to be pushed back down. It felt like there was a weight pressing against his skull, pounding against his temples.   
  
Nodding with satisfaction, Chloe sat back on her heels. "I was just about to look for a way out of…"   
  
She was interrupted by a noise, a clattering sound coming from the door.  
  
Lips pressed into a grim line, Lex pushed up onto his elbows. Before Chloe could push him back down again, he said, "Help me stand up."  
  
"What?" the young reporter frowned. "No! You're…"  
  
"Help me up," Lex repeated, his voice soft but firm. It they were about to come face-to-face with their kidnappers, he didn't want to do it from a position of vulnerability. Of weakness.   
  
Maybe she _could_ read his mind. Chloe stared at him for one long moment. Then, as understanding lit her eyes, she took his arm and helped him stagger to his feet.   
  
Lex's head pounded. He felt dizzy. Nausea assaulted his stomach. But he clenched his teeth, balled his hand into fists, and forced himself to stand tall and steady. To appear strong, in control.  
  
The room held its breath as the door swung open. The man who stepped through it wasn't what Lex expected.   
  
Their captor was young, about mid-20s. He was tall, and had the build of someone who worked out. His sandy blond hair had a stylish, trendy cut. His clothes, were well made, top of the line. He was handsome, except for a slightly pouty sneer. And Lex suspected the hand holding the gun sported a professional manicured.   
  
Without giving it a thought, Lex stepped forward and to the side, so that Chloe was partially hidden behind him.  
  
"Well, look at you!" A small, mean-spirited smile twisted their captor's lips. "All gallant and chivalrous." He shook his head in mock surprise. "Who knew you had it in you?"  
  
A knot of anger took shape in Lex's chest. It urged him to cross the room and wipe the smile off of that handsome, pouty face. But he'd learned well how to control his emotions. Control your emotions, and you could control almost any situation.  
  
"Who are you?" Lex asked, his voice calm. "And what do you want?"  
  
Their abductor ignored the question. "I'm glad you're both awake already. I wasn't sure you would be."  
  
"You know, your concern is sweet, and all," Chloe said. Her voice dripped with sarcasm. "But I'd really like to know why I'm here."   
  
Looking away from Lex for the first time, the kidnapper glanced at Chloe. "Well, to tell the truth, you were kind of a whim. I saw you and this guy chatting it up at that coffee house, and I got this great idea." Leaning forward, he grinned a little. "Don't worry. I'll explain later."  
  
Lex didn't have to look to know Chloe was pissed.   
  
Eyes narrowed, Lex sized up the slightly older man. There was anger there, just beneath the cruel smiles and taunting humor. Anger so intense, the other man almost seemed to vibrate with it. And, just like that, Lex knew this wasn't about a ransom. This was personal.  
  
Only, Lex also knew he'd never laid eyes on the man before.  
  
Lex took a sudden step forward. Startled, the kidnapper took a quick step back, eyes widening a fraction. The gun raised a few inches higher. Lex forced himself not to flinch as he looked down the barrel.  
  
"Who are you?" Lex asked again, his voice demanding an answer.  
  
All signs of humor were gone now. The taunting smile was replaced by anger. The eyes glaring at Lex burned with hatred.  
  
"My name is Steven Blakewell. And you're going to pay for killing my sister."  
  
  
  
(TO BE CONTINUED)


End file.
